Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

A Letter to My Sugar Daddy

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My Dearest Love,

The other day at work someone mentioned sugar daddies and knowing someone who had one. They spoke about how much he took care of her, and how she didn’t even have to give him anything in return. He just did it! I thought about that for a moment, and immediately I thought of you. I know, you’re laughing, but in a way that day I realized I have the perfect sugar daddy in you.

I know we both wondered how it would pan out when we switched roles last year. You stopped working sixty hour weeks and I passed on the homeschool mantle to your competent hands. I transitioned into the role of primary breadwinner for this season of life, and you entered the unknown waters of a stay-at-home husband and dad. It was a change for us both, but one neither of us complained about, understanding it was what we needed at the time. I knew it would be different, but I never realized how much.

Do you know that every night when I taste the homemade meal you’ve prepared that it tastes better than the last? Like, seriously I ask myself, “what is it that he does different than me?!” I always thought I was a really excellent cook, but then I tasted your dinners. After a long day nothing fills my belly like something you made in love, and nothing fills my heart more than realizing you did it just for me.

All the things you do for me. It’s amazing. You don’t let me lift a finger when I get home. You do it all. Cleaning, cooking, laundry. You manage to have me a hot meal and clean house when I walk in the door, despite having homeschooled the girls all day. The other day I watched you changing a dirty diaper and realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had! When our daughters ask me for something after a long day you jump in quickly to say, “I can get it!”

And that’s the thing, you get it. You get me, you get this whole marriage thing, and you get how much it means to me to be taken care of by you. You see to all my needs, and just when I think I couldn’t love you anymore than I already do, you do something else amazing.

I know, I know, I’m being super sappy, but I want you to know. I want you to know I see it. I notice every little thing you do for me, and it adds up huge in my heart. I feel like the luckiest woman alive. I go to a rewarding job serving others, and when I go home you serve me. Babe, you are speaking my love language, big time!

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for not only loving me (I’ve always known that), but thank you for showing me your love in action every single day. If being a sugar daddy means taking care of your lady then by all means you are the sweetest, most generous one on this planet, and I’m blessed enough to call you mine!

Love,

Your Wife

I’ve Missed This

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My husband lay behind me, and I curled into his body, his arm twined around my torso. My back to his chest, we fit together like two spoons in a drawer. It felt like home. We laid there on the couch together watching TV, and I could feel his hot breath in my ear.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered.

I agreed with a satisfying purr.

How long had it been since we laid like this? Too long to remember. I mean, we made time together as husband and wife, but to just lay beside one another for an extended period, soaking in the other’s presence? It had been a while.

Indeed, one or both of us usually had a kid or two in our lap, and you couldn’t very well twine into one another on the sofa when every few minutes someone came up asking for chocolate milk or if you could help them find something that was laying in plain sight. I’m not sure how we had managed it this long on this particular afternoon, but we had. I could hear the girls playing contentedly in their room, so I just enjoyed it while I could.

We were in our forties, and our entire married life had been about parenting. I don’t think we had planned it to be that way, but it’s how it turned out. We got married at thirty-one, in November, and worried that it might take a while to conceive I had stopped my birth control in December. Yep, by January we were expecting. I wasn’t even ready. Neither was he, but somehow together we made it beautiful. Having a baby brought out the best in us, and as a couple we grew.

That whole decade would be a series of pregnancies, deliveries, breastfeeding, newborns, and moving into different homes to suit our growing family. First steps, first words, and first everything’s. Times three! It was a whirlwind thirties for us, for sure. Watching my husband blossom under the mantle of fatherhood was one of my favorite things, and being a parenting partner with him was more than I could have hoped for. He was a wonderful dad!

Yet he was more. And as I lay against his body on the couch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against me, I knew it was true.

Marriage and parenting can be especially challenging when combined. There’s so much going on. Through terrible twos, stomach bugs, and birthday parties you go. You run errands, change diapers, and go to multiple doctor appointments. You worry, you rejoice, and you cry when you fear you’re messing it all up. You disagree on methods, you discuss the tough issues, and you fall asleep exhausted as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You hold hands together in the hospital waiting for the ultrasound of your daughter’s heart. You worry together.

He holds the baby’s arms down while you twist her head side to side, tortuously performing the physical therapy exercises they taught you to do. Your eyes meet in sympathetic wailing as you work through the baby’s loud cries. This too shall pass.

He comes into the bathroom to check on you where you lay in the floor next to the commode. How long can a stomach virus last for one family?!

Bills! So many bills. We need diapers. We gotta buy a bigger vehicle. She’s outgrown her shoes again.

Go take a bath. I’ll watch the baby.

You stay home by yourself for a change. I’ll take everyone to the store with me.

Go ahead and go to bed. I can tell you’re tired. I’ll put them down.

Through our nine years of marriage we had parented for over eight years of it. We had never really known each other just as husband and wife, but rather always as mom and dad. And we were wonderful at it! We were the perfect team! We were a dynamic parenting duo! But I never wanted to forget what it felt like to spoon on the sofa with the man I fell in love with.

My husband was a wonderful father, but before that he was my wonderful husband. He was a dad! But he was also my best friend. He was my confidant, my prayer partner, and so many days the lifter of my head. God had gifted me with this man, and not just to be the father of my children, but to be my companion for life. One day the children would leave the nest, but I knew it wouldn’t feel too empty. Because it would be filled with him.

It’s easy to get sucked into the parent trap. To see your spouse as your helpmate in matters involving the children, but forget that he was an ever-present help for you in all things. Although I love being a mother, I didn’t want that to define me alone. Before I was their mother, I was his wife, and after they grew up and became mothers themselves, still his wife I would be.

Seasons change, but love remains.

Our only season of married life had been a season of parenting small children, and sometimes that can be pretty overshadowing. The demands of raising multiple, little people takes a lot of strength and energy. Like, a lot! But I never want it to take it all. I always try to leave the best parts of myself for him. He deserves that of me.

“I miss this,” he had said.

And I had too.

It’s unrealistic to think that you can cuddle all day with three children eight years old and under around 24/7, but I did know this. I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to forget how good it felt to snuggle up alongside my best guy. I didn’t want to forget what it was like to miss and long for his embrace. I didn’t want to forget that I was made for him, and that he was made for me. I didn’t want to let it slip my mind that he was more than just the father of my children; he was also the love of my life. I held him above everything, and other than the good Lord, he was the one I loved the most. I poured a lot of energy and adoration into the children. We both did. But when it came down to it, he was the only one I wanted to end the day with, melting into his arms, and letting all our other obligations fade away, even if for just a moment.

I had missed this too, but I never wanted to miss it so much that I forgot what it was. Never.

My Husband Didn’t Buy Me a Christmas Present

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“My greatest gift in this life is being your wife.”

My husband smiled at my heartfelt words.

“Thank you, baby,” he replied. “That means a lot.”

My gift to him was appreciation, and his gift to me was every day. Every day he showed me his love for me in action.

You see, my husband didn’t buy me a Christmas gift this year.

About two weeks ago I had mentioned my thoughts to my husband as we drove back home from running errands.

“I thought perhaps we could not get each other Christmas gifts this year,” I suggested.

Then I presented the facts. We only had limited time before we packed up and headed over 500 miles away to visit family for Christmas. I’d be working twelve hours shifts, several in a row, right up until the day we left. We still had tons of shopping to do for family members. Yes, we are master procrastinators. Plus, let’s just be honest, funds were limited. Then there was the thing about not knowing what I wanted. I had considered what I might want, but I truly could think of nothing I needed! The past year of our lives had centered a lot around focusing on important things like time together, and less on piles of material possessions that meant very little. We had unloaded a lot of “stuff” before hitting the road to travel in an RV, and we loved how light we felt without all the unneeded junk.

“You know, we haven’t had time alone together since July. Maybe we could go on a date while we’re back home with family to babysit. That could be our Christmas gift to one another,” I proposed.

He was quick to answer, “I love it!”

After a few Christmas gatherings, and after seeing gifts other spouses gave one another, I thought about my nonexistent present last night.

I remember in a previous relationship him making a large income. He was always buying me jewelry, lots of diamonds and gold, plenty of expensive clothing, and pretty much anything I asked for. I also remember never feeling like I was pretty enough, or feeling like I wasn’t enough (period) for him. I lived consistently feeling like I wasn’t a gift to him, despite the presents he bought. For six years I lived like that. Stacked to the ceiling in stuff he gave me, but realizing I wasn’t loved.

Then I thought of my biological father. I remember when I was nineteen and I tried to reconnect with him. He took me to the mall, and he bought me $100 shoes and $100 jeans. I felt like he was trying to make up for the years lost, and I let him do it! I was nineteen, after all. But in the end $1000 shoes wouldn’t have made a difference. Many years later, after we had drifted apart again, I would look at those shoes in my closet and realize the presents didn’t matter. Presence did. I finally got rid of the shoes. But just today I talked to my Daddy who adopted me.

In my life, I have had plenty, and I have had little. Yet in all that experience I would trade all the possessions in the world in favor of true love and all that it entails. It was after these thoughts last night that I spoke my mind and heart to my husband before falling asleep.

“My greatest gift in this life is being your wife.”

From the moment I reconnected with my old boyfriend, who is now my husband, I never doubted his feelings. He would text me often just to say hello and let me know he cared. And this was back when texting wasn’t common and was in fact hard for us folks born in the 70’s and not quite in tune with the growing technology. Remember tapping through the number on the keypad to find the right letter?

He wasn’t a huge gift giver, even back then, but he was a huge giver of his love. His gifts of love came back then at a time when I needed them the most. After so much loss, he gave me all of his heart. Every single bit.

Even now, almost a decade married, three children later, with no doubt that we love one another, he hasn’t stopped showing me. Thank goodness texting has gotten easier.

Every day he gives me great gifts, gifts of his time, attention, and affection. He gives me the gift of listening to my concerns, the gift of being aware of my feelings, and sensitive to my needs. He gives me the gift of taking care of our home, serving me consistently, and modeling to our daughters how a man should treat his wife. He gives me the gift of respect, and he values my opinions. He gives me the gift of teaching our daughters, and of leading them to a closer walk with the Lord each day. Sure, he gives me the gift of a clean house and folded laundry, but he also gives me the gift of his everything. Every part of him belongs to me, and every part of me belongs to him. He inspires me to be a better person, and when I falter he is quick to forgive. He gives me compassion, realistic expectation, and so many compliments. So many compliments that I have no choice but to believe I am as beautiful as he says I am.

My husband didn’t buy me a Christmas present this year. Instead he gives me good gifts every single day. Each day I am married to him I grow to love him even more. Each day I feel more loved. Each day I see myself a bit more clearly through the rose-colored glasses of how he sees me, and each day I am more blessed to realize how special I am in his eyes. His affection is my daily gift, our partnership is my greatest present, and each day unwrapping the future of our continuing love story is better than anything mere money could buy.

But I am looking forward to that date!

We’re in This Together

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“In this family you don’t have to go through anything alone,” I explained to my oldest daughter. “We’re in this together!”

She nodded, sniffled, and wiped a stray tear from her cheek before acknowledging my statement with an accepting “ok, Momma.”

She was eight years old, and for whatever reason had started developing fear at night. She was having trouble sleeping, and she said when she woke up in the middle of the night with everyone else still sleeping, she felt alone. Her father and I had noticed something amiss with her mood, but she tried to say everything was ok. Finally, after much gentle questioning, she admitted her fears. She had worried her dad and I wouldn’t understand how she could know Jesus was always with her, but still be afraid. I think she was ashamed of her fear.

“It’s ok to be afraid, baby,” I explained. “It’s okay to cry, and it’s especially ok to ask for help. That’s why we’re here.”

My husband went on to explain she could always wake him up anytime. We offered wisdom from scripture, but above all we let her know that she wasn’t alone in this. That’s what family is for.

That was last night, but I was reminded of it again today.

“We all just finished praying for you,” my husband texted to me at work.

We’re in this together.

I was reminded how true that was. I had texted my husband earlier this morning to let him know I wasn’t feeling well. I felt downtrodden, and while I knew you couldn’t spread sunshine on the daily, I also knew God didn’t have it for me to feel defeated or depressed in my day. So I had shared my mood with my spouse so he might lift me up in prayer.

Turns out he enlisted the whole family to pray.

We’re in this together.

I thought about how I had responded not long ago when my husband wasn’t feeling well. When he doesn’t feel good he gets really quiet. He’s almost sullen. He doesn’t want to do anything, and in this particular instance had tried to make excuses to not go somewhere I had planned.

“It looks like it might rain,” my personal meteorologist/aka husband had stated.

I had retorted, “if you don’t wanna go just say so!”

And as I stewed with indignation afterwards I thought to myself how his bad mood shouldn’t be something I had to deal with! Yet, I had. I had allowed my anger to cool, tried to place myself in his shoes, and remembered that it was my job to support him in life. Through good times and bad.

We’re in this together.

I didn’t know if our family had a bullseye lately from the enemy for following God’s will, but I did know that everyone eventually had bad days. Sometimes all at once, sometimes at inconvenient times, sometimes when you couldn’t understand them, and sometimes even when they didn’t want to share those bad days with you. You still shared them! Even if you couldn’t understand, didn’t want to deal, or felt like you couldn’t help. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You help carry the weight when they can’t, and then later they pick up the load for a while. Repeat.

I told my daughter this last night. “God didn’t promise us that life on this earth would always be easy, but He did promise you wouldn’t be alone.”

I reckon sometimes God’s presence is made concrete through the people who love you. Wives support husbands, and husbands lift up their wives. Or they should.

Families pray together, and they intercede for one another. That’s what we’re here for. To love God, love one another, and help make the journey through this life easier for one another until we reach the other side.

We’re in this together.

So, never feel like you’re alone. Never go at it alone. God gives us all our people to help us through this thing called life. Look for your people today.

My Tribe

We Both a Little Crazy Sometimes

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He came up behind me unexpectedly, and he wrapped his solid arms around my waist. His bearded chin rested on my left shoulder as he drew me closer into his warm embrace. It felt comfortable, familiar, like home, and the anger I had been holding onto started to evaporate like it had never been there at all. The rigidness of my body softened in the caress of his strength and love, and it was as if I melted like wax, his presence being the flame of my undoing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly into my ear.

His apology a balm, the heat of his breath soothing, the warmth of his affection mending any broken fences. I rested there in his arms, surrendering to the greatest love I had ever known on this earth, opening my heart even more to his kindness.

I finally turned my head around, looking up into his tender, brown eyes. All the mad feelings that had been present just moments ago had vanished, pushed away by a stronger emotion.

Love.

I smiled up into his warm gaze, a place where I could become lost if I allowed it, and I said with a smirk, “we both a little crazy sometimes.”

He laughed, and we both knew it was forgotten. It was forgiven. Anger was let go, and the fight was over. All was as it should be. Thankfully.

Yet before…

I am not apologizing!

That is what I had thought before. In my mind, at the moment, I was always the first to say I’m sorry. Not this time! Nope, not gonna do it!

A ridiculous fight! That’s what it was. And I found it odd that our rare fights usually occurred over something minuscule and unimportant. It was like at work. I could handle the most stressful and tragic of situations, performing with a calm clarity when a serious or deadly predicament arouse. But if a computer froze or IV pump wouldn’t stop alarming, rage would build in me akin to some sort of Hulk-like explosion. Our occasional arguments were like that. We handled the stress of finances, the difficulties of parenting, and the uncertainty of life with ease, but introduce a conflict over which route to take home from the grocery store and we might just pull out the boxing gloves.

Yes, that’s what it had been, a silly disagreement over nothing of any real significance, but I had noticed over the years that even a pointless argument can be blown out of proportion when selfishness and the desire to be right took center stage.

His desire to be right, my stubbornness to not say sorry. My stance of silence, and his reciprocating, stoic, tight-lipped reply. Thoughts of selfish ambition, the certainty of one’s opinion being the best, and a stonewall emotional response. The temptation to say something hurtful, coupled with the fact that harsh words spoken cannot be reeled back in as easily as they’re cast. The choice between being right or being humble. The decision to stay silent, or the choice to speak surrender. The realization that relationship is more important than winning a fight. The ability to say I’m sorry, and the lifesaving healing of forgiveness.

Marriage isn’t easy, but then again, it’s not that hard. Perhaps we are the ones that make it more difficult than it needs to be. Sometimes it’s as simple as an apology, or as easy as letting go. Perhaps it’s the realization that no one is perfect, nor should such a standard be expected. Maybe it’s as straightforward as letting anger go in favor of love, as uncomplicated as remembering our own idiosyncrasies and faults. It could even be something as effortless as understanding that we’re all a little crazy sometimes.

You Wouldn’t Believe What I Found on My Husband’s Phone!

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I was sitting at home relaxing after a long day at work when suddenly I thought of something I had been meaning to find out. Being a generation with instant knowledge (or whatever else we desired) right at our fingertips, I reached for my phone to do a quick internet search for the question that was ailing me. But my phone wasn’t at the ready. I had just kicked my shoes off and cuddled up under a fuzzy blanket with some warm tea, and not desiring to get up after my tiring day, I reached across the couch for my husband’s phone. He had gone into the other room to do something for our daughters, so he didn’t see me retrieving his iPhone to open his internet browser.

I got into the phone easy enough. He didn’t have a passcode on it. It wasn’t something I thought either of us needed. I pulled up the internet, and still present there was the last website he had browsed. Y’all, I was not expecting what I found.

Have you ever noticed that people in this world are always searching?! They’re searching beyond the things they have right in their lap, things right at their disposal, things they don’t even notice over time. Folks go blind to what’s right in front of their face, those things they could easily have to make them happy. I guess it’s the old adage about the grass being greener.

It makes me think. I wonder if we make marriage too hard? We pray for the dream mate, we search for the perfect partner, if we’re lucky we land them, but then what do we do? We become complacent. We get so quickly and easily used to the person beside us. We take them for granted, and then we look up one day and wonder why our marriage isn’t happy anymore. We wonder where the magic went, what happened to the honeymoon, and maybe even sometimes wonder how we can fix it.

Why is the grass always greener on the other side? Perhaps because the attention paid to it is akin to a well-watering. Meanwhile, on our own turf, the lawn is looking pretty crusty. Maybe even dead.

Do you know what I found when I opened my husband’s internet on his phone? It certainly wasn’t what I expected. The website he had last viewed was still present, and in surprise and with a chuckle I looked at the website.

marthastewart.com

That’s the website that stared back at me. That’s the website that was last looked up on his phone. That’s what my husband had been searching when I wasn’t home. As I looked a little further on the webpage I realized it was a savory pork chop recipe. While I had been working my husband had been homeschooling our children, taking care of some home maintenance issues, doing laundry, and had also been searching for the best way to cook pork chops for our dinner.

Earlier when I had arrived home from work, tired and hungry, I had immediately been accosted by the delicious aroma of dinner. Y’all, it was the best meal I’ve ever had. Seriously. It certainly wasn’t the first time my husband had made dinner for me; he did it every night I worked, but this night seeing his phone had reminded me of just how much he cared. He had not just cooked dinner for me after I had a long day, but he had taken the time to search and find the best recipe possible for it.

It’s the truth, people in this world are always searching, but the question is are they searching for the right thing? Are they searching for ways to cultivate their own yard? I know my husband loves me, but his consistent actions hammer it home. In turn, I reciprocate his love in action. We serve one another, and therefore we don’t have to search for our lost happiness. We simply acknowledge and feed that happiness that is already there. Our marriage thrives because we search for ways to show the other how much they are valued, appreciated, and loved. Does that mean our marriage is perfect? Of course not! But those pork chops made it pretty darn close.

So, if you’re going to be searching in this world, let your search be for ways to cultivate the relationships in your life.

A Generation That Hates Mondays

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We’re a generation that hates Mondays. Have you noticed that? Monday Memes abound, and when Sunday evening draws to a close the majority of America falls into a state of silent dread, downtrodden for the walk into whatever workplace that awaits them the following morning. I wonder to my self sometimes, was it always this way?

What are we working for, or who are we working for? When did we become so discontent with our station in life that the thing we spend the majority of our time doing (work) becomes the thing we dread the most? Worse than death and taxes, it seems work has taken first place as the most certain thing we absolutely must face. And we face it with a deep-set frown.

I mean, you gotta work, right? Someone has to pay the bills, pay the second mortgage, finance the Disney trip next summer, and keep the kiddos in designer duds. We live to work, we work to live, never imagining there could be a different way.

We’re afraid to do the things we really love, the things dreams are made of. I went into the nursing field over packing up and heading to Hollywood because my dad insisted the medical field was the smart choice, the reliable choice, the vocation that would bring in a steady income. Because that’s the world we live in.

We don’t chase dreams; we chase paychecks. We don’t create a debt-free life. Instead we create the life we’ve always dreamed of, complete with price tags we can’t really afford. We pack our lives and over-sized homes with things we don’t really need, but things that might fill the emptiness we have over doing a job we don’t really enjoy.

Or perhaps we forget who we’re working for. Generations before us had a pride for their jobs, whatever they were, because they knew they were working (in essence) for their families. Today we’re usually working for a newer car, a bigger lawn, or to payoff our caviar dreams. We work for vacation, not for the satisfaction of a job well done. We work overtime for those coveted vacations that photograph well, the ones to even make the Joneses green with envy. We work day in and day out for those paltry two weeks that are so jam-packed with all the things we’ve been missing that we’re exhausted from our time off. Is there any Monday worse than the Monday after vacation?

Is there a way we could hate Mondays less? I mean, Monday isn’t really any different than Tuesday, or Friday for that matter. As a nurse I can be off on a Monday as easy as work a Sunday. So it’s not so much Monday that we hate, but rather what Monday represents. And typically Monday represents the return to something we’d rather not return to. It’s a return to a job we hate, a job we gripe about endlessly, yet are afraid to leave. We’re afraid to make a change, as if we truly believe that the evil we know is far better than the one we do not.

So, we’ll keep robotically returning to something we dread, living life like a replay reel. Just like the movie Groundhog Day, we’re forced to repeat each and every day just like the one before it. Yet even in that movie, didn’t Bill Murray discover he could change the outcome of each and every day?

Can we be the change?

What if we stepped out in courage to conquer something new?

What if we listened to the still, small voice in our head that told us of a different way?

What if we stopped working to have more stuff we didn’t really need?

Or we stopped losing sight of the joy that existed in every single day?

Maybe we could open our eyes to the little things that blessed us, instead of trudging in a trance to the beat of the same glum drum.

Maybe we could pay off debt instead of creating more. Maybe we could create time off instead. Maybe we could create the opportunity to chase a dream.

Because I’m still over here trying to figure out when in the world The Great American Dream stopped being about living your dreams?! And instead it became about striving in stress to create for yourself what someone else said is “your” American Dream.

We forgot how to step outside the box. We forgot how to focus on what’s important. We started one day working for all the stuff that will rust and ruin, instead of cultivating and creating a legacy to leave behind.

And you see, a legacy doesn’t have to be what the world says is “great.” Sometimes most times the greatest legacy you can leave behind is family and friends who have learned from you to cherish life as the gift it is. They know you don’t just cherish Saturday and Sunday, dragging themselves through the rest of the week in a disillusioned fog. No! They cherish every day. They work for the things they cherish in all of those cumulative days, and if it’s not worth cherishing then they don’t waste their time working over for it. They won’t work tirelessly for another man’s dream. They’ll create their own.

So why do we hate Mondays? Perhaps it’s because we’re uncomfortable. We’re uncomfortable living a life that fights for dreams we didn’t dream. Instead we’re working for dreams that society created for us. They’re dreams of paper and sand that will collapse before we ever obtain them. And even if we do grab a little handful, won’t the wind eventually just blow it away?

Perhaps if we were working for our own dreams, working for relationships with those we love, and working less because we let go of the paper dreams, maybe then we wouldn’t hate Mondays quite so much.

I mean, it’s worth a try, right?

Ask yourself, what are you working for? If you died tomorrow and it wouldn’t follow you to Heaven, then perhaps it’s not worth working so laboriously to obtain.

I don’t know, but maybe Monday can just be another day.

I Choose You

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When you make a decision to spend the rest of your life with someone you’re actually making a choice for them. You make a declaration to yourself that says, “this is the person. This is the one for me.” You look around your own little world, you find the person that makes your toes tingle, belly quiver, and heart flutter. You make the conscious choice to be with that person, and that person only. You say, “I choose you!”

But it’s what follows that really matters.

Have you ever been in that weird state between sleep and wakefulness? It’s that spell of time right before you drift off, but you’re still not quite there yet. You’re not asleep, yet not really awake. It’s like an in between time. Well, in my in between time my husband came to my rescue.

My eyes had fluttered shut, I’m sure. The room was darkened, but not completely without light. The glimmer of illumination shown from the television, the nearly muted sound of a familiar movie in the background. This was how my husband had always slept. With the TV on, turned down a bit, but still offering a kind of white noise and glimmer of light to the bedtime experience. It was in this dimness and dull roar that my heavy eyes flew open in surprised fear.

I jumped up from my pillow suddenly, sitting straight up in our bed, heart racing, a soft shriek of surprise escaping from me.

“What’s the matter?” My husband asked quickly.

I could hear the fog sticking to his words, saw the dullness in his somehow steady gaze, and knew by his posture, albeit at the ready, that he too had almost been asleep.

“It’s a spider,” I exclaimed. “On my window shade!”

I’d like to mention, at this point, that I’m not afraid of spiders. I’m just not. Having been raised by a mother who picked up bugs to place them outside rather than squashing them, a mother who brought me up with unusual pets like rats and snakes, I had no terror of slimy, slithering, or skittering things. Having been a woman who had picked up nonpoisonous spiders in my hand, and surprised my spouse by showing him a black widow I had captured, I wasn’t prone to hysterics over a loose arachnoid. But… I also didn’t want anything crawling around over my bed while I slept, spider or otherwise. So when I had spotted a spider crawling up the window shade right next to my pillow, I had come awake immediately to capture this furry foe.

“Where did you see it?!” He asked excitedly.

At this point I should mention something about my husband. While I might not fear spiders, the opposite could be said of him. He’s more aptly described as having a terror of spiders. Like, if you want to hear a forty year old, over six feet tall man scream like a little girl, then present him with a spider of any kind. He even checks his shoes every single time before putting them on, lest a spider be in the toe.

So I was a bit taken off guard when he leapt to my aid. I watched sleepily as my husband crouched on my side of the bed, listening and looking as I detailed my spider sighting. As we both sat there, still half asleep, and I recounted the blurry bug crawling across my window blind, I believe we both knew it was likely a trick of my eyes induced by a dream state approaching. We both were sleepy, we both were previously comfortable under the covers, and we both pretty much knew there wasn’t a spider afoot. Yet my husband, the one who was deathly fearful of spiders, had jumped out of bed, rather than rolling over in slumber, and had come to my side. He looked high and low to put my mind at ease, and as I watched him searching for my imaginary, eight-legged arachnid I smiled.

This guy really loves me, I thought.

And I’ve learned over the years that’s what choosing someone is all about. It’s all about love in action. It’s about not just saying the words, “I love you,” but showing it in the most ridiculous ways. Because life is ridiculous. It’s full of surprise accidents, unexpected illnesses, rude awakenings, and bombshells of all sorts. When you say, “I choose you,” you’re really saying that you’re in it together, 100%, through good times and bad, ups and downs, and all of the above. It’s saying that even when it’s scary, I’m with you. It’s saying that even when the situation sucks, I’ll stick by your side. It’s saying I choose it all, every part, because together we’ll conquer this thing called life. It’s saying I choose to make it through this world with you. Let’s do this!

So when I saw my spouse on all fours, looking under the bed for what we both knew to be a nonexistent, sleep-induced sighting, he still knelt down to search. He did it so I could rest. He did it despite the hour, despite the absurdity. He did it because he loved me. He did it because we had chosen one another. And sometimes most of the time choosing someone meant you chose to go through everything together. Even the stuff that personally scared you to bits.

In life and love you find that person. You find them, and you choose them! But then it’s what happens after that choice that matters the most.

A Letter to the Friend Who’s Been Cheated On

by

My Friend,

People ask you if you’re doing okay. You shrug it off, make a joke, lighten the situation anyway you can. You say that you’re fine, and maybe you are. But I thought I would say the things swimming inside my brain anyhow. You never know.

I can recall a devastating season in my past, but it coincided with the first time I had heard God’s voice clearly in a long time. Normally a short commute to work, this day I was traveling out of town for my job. So as I drove a quiet stretch of road I was faced with time to truly have to think about what was going on in my life.

I had not cried out to God in what seemed ages, but in that moment of brokenness I wailed to my Heavenly Father, “help me, God!”

My comfortable life had been shaken. The night before my husband of six years had broken the news that he did not want to be with me anymore. Shell shocked I prayed for answers, I prayed for comfort.

Do you know what God told me?

He told me what I already knew. He told me my husband wasn’t happy. But He also told me it wasn’t my fault.

I want you to know it’s not your fault. Hey, maybe you already know that, but considering how fragile human hearts can be, especially when broken, it seemed prudent to offer this advice.

You see, I reckon human beings are made with a hole in our hearts. It’s one that was put there by sin, and the only way to stop it up and fill it right is with Jesus. But what happens is the whole dang world goes on a shopping spree searching for a quick fix to that deep sadness inside them. They fill their hearts up with all sorts of things, but none of it sticks. So when a partner goes wandering, looking for love other than the one right beside them, it’s cause they’re trying to fix a leak. It’s not your fault.

We’re a broken lot, and most of us don’t even know how to love ourselves. So when a spouse can’t even love themselves, they go searching for someone to love them. They need someone to make them feel special, or beautiful, or handsome, or talented, or needed, or whatever. They rely on another human to make them feel loved. There’s a lot of things I don’t know in this life, but I do know one thing for sure. Only the Lord can love us like we need to be loved. It’s how we’re wired. The problem is a lot of folks don’t realize that, so they have to keep searching for that feeling. First they think they found it in you, but you know how that turns out. You can’t save someone!

I remember coming to that realization all those years back, driving down that lonesome road to work. My husband (at the time) wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy with life in general. He changed everything, and I guess he thought changing wives would fix him. I could be wrong, but that’s what I felt like God told me at the time. And I took comfort in knowing it wasn’t all on me. Yes, there were things I could have done better, but in the end I couldn’t carry all that weight. And neither can you.

I guess it comes down to all of us needing more Jesus inside us. We’d love ourselves more, appreciate the people we’re with better, and cultivate relationships with Him at the center. I’ve learned a lot since then. I guess we’re all just a work in progress.

So keep working on you, for sure, but don’t place all the blame on your shoulders either. You’ll never be everything to someone. Sometimes women cheat cause they’re struggling to find that love that humans can’t give alone, and sometimes husbands leave cause they’re searching far and wide for a bucket of happiness to fill that void in their heart. It hurts for now, I know, even if you try and act like it doesn’t. But take heart in knowing you can’t be a savior. That job’s already taken. It’s just not everyone realizes that when they’re holding out a frantic hand, looking for someone to throw them a rope in this life.

Your job now is to fill your bucket with the right stuff, and pray for them that maybe one day they’ll do the same. You gotta forgive em, cause being mad just puts more holes in your own bucket. Been there, done that. Take it one day at a time, and when you get to feeling really empty (because you’re human, and you will), I pray God fills you to overflowing.

I’ve found this world will for sure give you a heap more than you can handle, but then the good Lord comes in and gives you the strength you need to get through.

Hold on to His strength.

Always,

Your Friend

Confessions of a Praying Wife

by

This morning as I drove to work I prayed for my husband. The Lord brought specific things to my mind to pray for him, and as I intervened for my spouse in intercession it occurred to me that I had not always prayed for him this way. I’ve always been a praying wife, but how I pray has changed.

I thought back to about five years ago, and as I did my heart was broken. I was filled with guilt over how I had thought of and supported my spouse. On the outside I’m sure I appeared like the perfect helpmate, but in my heart I know that wasn’t true. I had not championed for my husband to be who God intended him to be. I had rallied for who I wanted him to be.

Looking back, it causes me to wince, and it feels me with shame to speak so honestly about my inner thoughts. But perhaps by sharing my story with you I can help you be a selfless, praying partner, unlike the one I feel I was back then.

As it was our life was wonderful. We were growing a family, and a happy one at that. We lived in a small, humble home, and we enjoyed time together as a family. It was around this time that my husband was offered an opportunity, and he brought it to me first with the request that I would join him in prayer for deciding the next step.

At the time my husband worked as the main cook for a local pizza restaurant. He had been doing this since we first got married, and although his paycheck wasn’t huge, it was enough to feed our needs and bellies. What he was offered, though, was an opportunity to purchase the store and become the owner!

I can’t explain how I reacted when he brought this to me, but I think you may could guess. I was elated! You see, I really wanted something more for him, but also something more for me. It wasn’t that I was ashamed for what my husband did, but I always felt he could do better. And perhaps, if I’m really digging deep, there was a part of me that was bothered by it. I mean, other women’s husbands had jobs other than food service. It was a job you typically got as a teenager, not one you held as an adult. They didn’t even offer insurance or benefits. If someone asked what he did, I made sure and used the word “chef.” It hurts my heart to display my pride and selfishness so openly, but I was worried what others thought. I was. I was proud of my husband for the man he was, but I wanted others to be proud of him too. He had a huge heart, but people on the outside couldn’t see that. They only saw the labels used for how he provided for his family. So, it sounded good to me to be able to say, “my husband owns a restaurant,” rather than to say, “he cooks at a pizza place.”

I honored my husband by joining him in prayer, but did I honor him by praying unconditionally and selflessly? Probably not. I wanted him to accept the offer and buy the restaurant. Thoughts of a better future excited me. I dreamed of a bigger home and being able to go part-time at work. I fantasized about how this would positively impact our financial future and standing in the community. I wanted him to decide “yes,” and that’s the direction my prayers went. I prayed for my husband, but I prayed for the outcome I desired for him. I wasn’t praying for what he wanted, or even more importantly, for what God had for him.

Of course, he took the store. In retrospect, I know he did it for me. He has said since that he didn’t want to own a business, but he felt like it was best for us. I know that he knew I was in favor of it, but he didn’t have experience in owning a business. Turns out it wasn’t his forte either. Turns out he worked constantly, more than he ever did as a cook. Turns out, even when he was off work, he wasn’t really off. Turns out it was more stress for him than I ever imagined. Turns out I missed him, and I regretted that I had pressured him to take something on that he wasn’t meant to take on. In the end the business failed, but not after years of him feeling like he was failing us.

What might have been had I supported my husband unconditionally and selflessly, focusing more on what he wanted and less on what I wanted? How might have things gone had I prayed for God’s will in my husband’s life rather than my own will for him? Thankfully I know that God works out all things for our good, and I can rest in the fact that the Lord used those circumstances to bring us where we currently are. So I rejoice in them! But I do feel awful for how I handled it back then. I wasn’t the kind of wife my husband deserved, nor the wife I wanted to be. My husband has never made me feel the way about this that I do. In fact, he’s never mentioned it. It’s just something I felt convicted of, and it’s something I was determined to improve.

Now I strive to pray not what I desire for my husband, but what the Lord desires. I pray for God’s will in his life. I’ve always adored and appreciated my husband for who he is. The Lord created in Him the most loving heart I have ever known, and instead of wanting God to manifest more in my spouse, I simply pray he can be the man in this life that God has for him to be. Because I imagine God has it all figured out, and He doesn’t need my help in molding my spouse. I’ll just leave that part up to the Lord from here on out. My calling is to support my husband wherever Jesus leads him. My role isn’t to change my husband. My role is to love him.